


Bat Out Of Hell

by vintageginger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 'Y/N' and 'you' aren't used but you can easily pretend its a reader insert if you're interested, Cyberpunk AU, F/M, Gob voice I've made a huge mistake, The violence isn't HORRIFIC but it's graphic enough it should be tagged, Werewolf, Whats a nice girl like you doing in a place like this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintageginger/pseuds/vintageginger
Summary: James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes is having some supernaturally bad luckAKA Bucky gets his ass kicked by monster women, set to the album 'Bat Out Of Hell' by Meat Loaf





	1. Bat Out Of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's getting out of the Valley tonight. Maybe he gets a little distracted first.  
>   
>  _Like a bat out of hell_  
>  _I'll be gone when the morning comes._  
>  _But when the day is done, and the sun goes down,_  
>  _And the moonlight's shining through,_  
>  _Then like a sinner before the gates of heaven,_  
>  _I'll come crawling on back to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague Cyber-punk AU where Bucky is an enforcer for the mob in a fictional corrupt city called The Valley. The setting isn't horribly important because, well, Bucky is leaving it behind TONIGHT.

Bucky's never been afraid of The Valley. Not afraid of the disease and decay waiting in the gutter for all who fall down there. Not afraid of the illegal sensory wirings and organ transfers that blossom under corrupt law enforcement. Not afraid of the seedy under-table dealings he's been-ahem, _enforcing_ -for the past five years. When you've seen the things Bucky Barnes has seen, done the things he's done, The Valley doesn't scare you. No, it's not The Valley that scares him, it's the thought of what he'll become if he stays any longer.

So he's leaving. It's taken him months to meticulously plan his escape, his eyes hurt from his quadruple-checking the holo-map of ducts and alleys crisscrossing across the whole wasteland of a basin. _Left here, right up ahead, another right after that, 3rd vent on the right_ , and he's tumbling out into the alley. 

She almost mistakes him for another bundle of trash for a moment, and maybe it would have been better if she had. Crumpled into a heap next to an overflowing garbage can, he sees her squint at his bloodied face before her eyes wash down to his hands holding his side, widening at the sight of blood staining his fingers. 

Pure, and good, and right, it doesn't make sense for her to live down there. He thinks of it as a cruel coincidence that he would meet her tonight of all nights. A shining light of goodness and kindness, beaming down at him, asking if he was alright as he thinks he better not sully her by staring for too long.

So what if the Valley is a rotten old hole of humanity? If she's there, it couldn't have been **that** bad, right?

Her hand is soft as it grabs his elbow, asking already what his name was, if he was from around here. Pushing his wet and matted hair out of his eyes to take a look at his cut and bruised face. "Come upstairs with me," she asks, so quietly he almost didn't hear over the sound of pouring rain shattering over tin roofs. "These need to be cleaned."

He couldn't bring himself to say no to her, not with that look in her eye that this was **urgent**. So he lets her lead the way to the tiny apartment upstairs-- not like he can see it over the black eye swelling shut anyway.

Seated on the bed, he can't help but notice with his good eye the five locks on her door, the deadbolts on all the windows, physical reminders of why he needs to _get out of this place_. For a moment he has the bright idea to ask her to come with him, flee this place together. Ultimately, he shakes it away with the stray water droplets that fly off his wet hair.

He's noticed the brand at her ankle, _Cartel Property_. He was already in trouble, he couldn't have a cartel after him for "stolen property", too. No, she would have to stay behind.

Learning at a young age never to question what got someone branded, he swallows the question burning up his esophagus. _What's a pretty thing like you doing in a cartel like that?_

Taking the moment instead to re-evaluate his situation, he counted a few facts in his head. 

1 - his bike was waiting in the alley nearby, something he hid weeks ago under a tarp and several garbage cans.

2 - he was trying to lay low for the night before taking off at sunrise. _Maybe I can work my magic and sleep on her couch,_ he thought miserably, _seems like she doesn't mind strays._

"How'd you get so banged up," she asks, setting the first aid kit beside him on the bed. He couldn't help but huff out a weak chuckle.

"Got in the way at a 'business meeting,'" he said, trying to keep her shielded from the truth. She didn't need to know he was caught in a fight between him and the other goons he once considered his friends. Though he _did_ have to fight down the urge to tell her, "you should see the other guys." 

"Ah," she started, smiling softly as she wiped a washcloth gently over his face, "so you're a bad boy, huh?"

Bucky couldn't help but smile weakly, "I guess." Catching her eye as he mumbles it, he can't help but feel the energy of the room change. The pressure is too gentle as she presses antiseptic and fresh gauze over the cuts and scrapes. Gingerly applying the bag of ice over the black eye, she winces sympathetically as he recoils in pain.

"Could you lay back please," she asks, almost too quiet to hear, as if she's speaking to a wounded animal. 

As he lays back on her bed, he can't help but feel they should have put a towel down or something. He's absolutely filthy and he knows it, horrified that she'll be looking at him like this. _She's too good to have seen this much blood before,_ he thinks desperately. 

And he's so lost in his own thoughts, he doesn't feel her lift up his tattered shirt, almost forgets where he is until the sting of peroxide hits the scrapes on his chest.

"Sorry," she mumbles, shooting him a sheepish look, "I'm almost done, I promise."

"It's fine," he replies, leaning back up as she presses a single bandage near his collarbone. 

"Are there any on your back," she asks, and he nods, knowing the other enforcers broke more skin on his back than on his chest.

Putting the bag of ice down in his lap, he groaned as he pulled his shirt off, cloth catching on a few scabs along the way.

Having the good sense to gasp as he turned around, she's unsure how he was even _walking_ when she found him.

"This is going to hurt a lot," she mumbled, starting to wipe the blood off with her washcloth.

"If you're the one hurtin' me doll, then it's worth it," he replied, putting the ice back up on his eye.

And it _did_ hurt. Ten minutes later, the antiseptic was still stinging as the last of the gauze was taped over his skin, soft fingers gently pressing the bandages into place.

Silence hung in the air between the two of them, looking down at the tears in his pants. 

"I can do these myself," he said, moving to get off the bed, only to be held back by unblemished fingers circling around his wrist.

"Hey, no," she said, "I'll do it, just take your pants off," the end of the sentence curled pleasantly into laughter, bubbling up in his own chest as the twinging of his heartstrings kept his legs too weak to move off the bed. 

So his pants come off after all, and she cleans up his legs. They both know there's nothing deep, just a few cuts and scrapes still weeping plasma long after the blood has clotted. Nothing a couple of regular bandages couldn't fix.

It's too magnetic in here, too tense, too _much,_ as he looks into her eyes, moving to put his clothes back on.

And, unsure as to how it happens, Bucky promises himself that he's never going to forget a single moment of this night. Knowing he's leaving in the morning to never look back, leaving her in this wasteland to decay alone, he swears he is going to memorize how soft her lips are as they gently press kiss after kiss to the cuts and bruises littering his skin.

He tells himself he's going to remember the specific sensation of his sweat dripping down his back into his raw skin as he whispers her name as if it’s his own private prayer. He pressures himself to remember how her hair feels weaving between his finger tips, and what her sighs and breathing feel like against his ear. His eye is still swollen but he memorizes what The Valley's lights look like from her window as he's holding her close. 

_Better enjoy this_ , he thinks to himself, _as soon as that sunrise hits, you're **outta here.**_

~~

He winces the next morning as he sneaks out of bed, noticing the blood on her pillowcases-- _his_ blood. 

Bucky tries not to make promises-- not in The Valley. In The Valley, promises are enforced with knuckles, chains, pipes, guns. . . _ **blood**_. But he promises himself he's going to come back for her, someday. Crawl back if he has to, like a sinner before the gates of heaven, he'll get her out of this place.

Tearing the tarp off his bike in the alley, he makes sure to rev it as loud as he can, as if to punctuate his departure from this rotting corpse of a city with the biggest middle finger he can. A crackling motorcycle engine at four in the morning seems to be the punctuation mark he's looking for. 

The highway feels like nothing under his motorcycle, every quarter mile he gets lighter and lighter, before feeling heavier and heavier as he remembers how his callused hands felt against her smooth skin. 

_What a rookie mistake_ , he thinks ten minutes later, coughing on his own blood in the ditch, _taking my eye off the road to think about some girl I just met_.

"Curves, it seems, are a real problem for you, huh Barnes," A voice calls out to him, boots crunching in the gravel as the footsteps approach.

His fight or flight instincts activate somewhere in the back of his head, but as he tries to scramble out from under his bike, he feels his legs sitting in angles they shouldn't be. Crumpled under his bike, he realizes that this is as far as he's getting from The Valley.

The voice keeps speaking, getting closer, but he can't really hear over the ringing in his ears and debilitating pain in his legs.

"The Circuit Cartel asked me to take out the trash," the voice says, and he instantly recognizes it.

_Her._

He can feel his heart leaving his body before she ever moves a muscle to deliver the killing blow. He should have known that coincidence doesn't exist in The Valley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was listening to Meatloaf's Bat Out of Hell album and thought to myself, "what if Bucky just got his butt kicked, themed by these songs?"
> 
> That's it thats the theme


	2. You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth (Hot Summer Night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's brooding at the water's edge is interrupted.  
>   
>  _And then you took the words right out of my mouth_  
>  _Oh it must have been while you were kissing me_  
>  _You took the words right out of my mouth_  
>  _And I swear it's true_  
>  _I was just about to say I love you_

What were his friends thinking, dragging him to this dumb party? A bonfire at the shore? _What are we_ , Bucky thought bitterly to himself, _high schoolers sneaking out with their moms wine coolers?_

He scooped up a flat-looking rock, flinging it unsuccessfully into the water, trying to get it to skip.

"You need a flatter rock," a voice behind him piped up, "but your throwing technique was pretty good."

Turning around, he couldn't help but scowl at the girl behind him. _Can't she see I want to be left alone?_

"Woah, Heathcliff, I come in peace. Wanted to make sure everyone had a drink. I'll leave you to chuck rocks in _private_ in a second."

"Who the fuck is Heathcliff," Bucky huffs, moodily, "And who are you?"

Giggling as she extended a full cup of beer to him, "Natasha, but you can call me Nat. And Heathcliff is the brooding, hunky man in the classic Wuthering Heights."

"I'm not brooding," Bucky groused, "and my name is Bucky. Can you disappear now?"

She laughed again, bringing her cup up to her mouth to take a sip. In the moonlight, he could see her tongue flash out and wipe the remaining liquid from her cherry red lips. Eyebrow raised, she continued speaking.

"You're sitting alone, on a foggy beach, when the party is a quarter mile _that way_ ," pointing behind her for dramatic effect, "on the night of the full moon, throwing rocks into the ocean, asking me to leave you alone, and you think you're _not_ brooding? Damn, dude."

Tossing her red hair over her shoulder, she turned to the ocean in front of her, sighing before taking another sip out of her cup.

"Sure know how to pick a view, though."

He couldn't help but chuckle, ducking his head to finally take a drink.

"Thanks," he said, turning his face to fully face the full moon hovering over the water. 

The wind lapped at the sweat on his neck, offering the tiniest respite from the heat of the evening.

"The bonfire got too hot," he mumbled, "that's why I'm over here alone."

Barking her laughter, Natasha lifted her hand up to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Sure, that's why you hiked a quarter mile up the beach. 'Cause you were too hot."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky couldn't help but smile at her.

"Fine," he said, "You caught me. Don't laugh but, I got dumped today."

"There it is," she exclaimed. Her face fell a second later, realized she was gloating in the face of a heartbroken man. "Sorry, that's really unfortunate," she muttered, sitting down on a piece of driftwood.

"It wasn't that serious," he sighs, eyes still on the waves in front of him, "My friend thought going to a party would help my spirits, but now I'm just dumped **and** covered in sand."

She laughed again, and Bucky couldn't help but think maybe getting dumped was worth it to see how pretty her lips looked, stretched into a smile like that. 

Taking a seat next to her on the driftwood, he dug his toes into the sand a little more, hoping that if he dug a little further he would never have to leave this moment in time.

"Well," she started, leaning over to bump his shoulder with hers, "I'm glad they dragged you out tonight."

Holding her cup out, she looked at him expectantly until he held his similarly.

"To her loss being my gain," She said, grin wide on her face.

"To Heathcliff," Bucky replied, knocking the rim of his plastic cup against hers.

As the two of them dissolved into a fit of laughter, the moon seemed to get brighter to Bucky. Natasha's lipstick seemed redder, even.

 _Maybe things are going to be okay after all_ , he thought, taking a large gulp of beer.

He didn't even realize it tasted off.

~~

"Can't believe hes this heavy," he heard someone grumble, feeling the sand part around his head. 

Suddenly hitting a rock, he couldn't help but cry out in pain.

"Shit," they spat, stopping to look at him, "I _told_ Steve I needed a bigger dose."

"What're'ya doin'," Bucky slurred, finally getting a glimpse of Natasha in the moonlight. 

She stopped to stand over him, moon hovering over her shoulder like a co-conspirator. All she did was smile down at him, before shaking her head and continuing to pull him down the beach. He's realizing all at once that his hands and feet are tied, and they're near a gaggle of rocks he knew was _very_ far down the beach. A weight settled on his chest as he accepted that he was probably--no, definitely--not going home tonight. 

His mouth betrays him as he opens it to yell for help, dry on the inside and just as uncoordinated. Words barely take shape before they fall out of his lips ungracefully, reduced to mere sounds and wheezed breaths. 

"Please stop," Natasha whispers over her shoulder, "Don't be pathetic about this, Bucky."

All he can do is huff some more, breaths panting out his nose so hard he's sure he's going to hurt himself.

"It's nothing personal," she continues, grunting as she reorients his weight in her hands, "You were alone and your friends actually kept telling everyone to leave you alone. Would've been stupid to miss out on this opportunity. You understand, right?"

Somehow, he coordinates enough to growl at her, but it trickles into a whine at the end.

Finally, she stops dragging his body as they enter a cave. The place smells of dead fish and sea water and he realizes no one's going to be looking for him in here of all places. 

"It's hard being a werewolf these days, ya' know," she sighs, angling his body on large boulder so he's sitting up, "It's not as glamorous as the books make it seem."

Sitting down on the floor herself, she takes one look over her shoulder, up at the moon, before running a hand through her long red hair. 

"It's not an exact science either. Everyone makes it seem like you can pinpoint it to an exact time or its as soon as the moonlight touches your body you're a monster. The moon's got her own agenda and you just have to roll with it. I don't even change forms, isn't that pathetic?"

Natasha pauses to shake her head, frustration settling over her like a film. "I stay human, I just get claws and teeth, and so, so _hungry_. I'm really sorry it had to be you this time, Bucky, you seem like a really nice guy."

Bucky laughs- at least he thinks the sound he makes is a laugh. "I bet y'say that t'all th'boys," he slurs, trying to focus on one of the four copies of her swirling in his vision.

"I'm so sorry, Bucky," she sighs, crawling closer to him on the floor, "but this is going to hurt a lot."

His words die in his throat as the air tumbles out from the middle of his neck. He's not sure if its her hands or her fingers slicing him open and he's not sure he wants to know, either. His chest feels warm, and he feels vaguely panicked that there's some part of himself that's outside of his body that should definitely be inside. Something primal, clawing its way from the bottom of his brain to the top, telling him he should _be running_. But he can't move, all he can do is lay there and listen to claws and teeth and noises he's heard on medical dramas that he never thought his own body would be making.

Natasha's face enters his vision again, the damn moon hovering behind her again. _She's beautiful like this_ , he thinks to himself, looking at her blood covered lips. _Red is really her color_.

"I'm so sorry Bucky," she sighs, kissing him messily on the lips before moving down to his neck again, "I usually don't do this on the first date."

If he makes it out alive, he can't help but think he'd like a second one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, Bucky!


End file.
